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"About ready?" Krissi asked through the adjoining door."In a moment," Devlin said. She put on her cloak, not so much for the warmth as the modesty. Her wrap covered a lot of her, but it didn't cover that much and she didn't feel like parading in front of the motel staff. "Okay, I guess I'm ready. How about you?"Krissi came through the door between their motel rooms wearing her new dress. It was a floor-length powder blue dress that appeared to be made out of the sheerest nylon. But there were enough layers Krissi could claim to be covered, but only if you stretched the word. The color perfectly matched Krissi's eyes, and blended perfectly with her skin tones."Gorgeous," Devlin said, enviously. "Heart-stopping, actually." You really think so?" Krissi pirouetted in the middle of the floor, her dress floating around her legs like a wisp of nothing. "Let me get my purse."Steve joined them in the hall, looking handsome in his tuxedo. "Doesn't look any different than normal," Devlin. In more languages than I will ever hear again in a single day, we were told over and over how sorry the world was. Words were not needed, to be understood. Countless hugs from complete strangers, our tears mingling on each other’s already damp shoulders spoke more eloquently than the words ever could. We united because we were all human. For several weeks after, American flags sprung up like mushrooms after the rain. Large and small, cheap and costly, freeways, buildings and cars displayed them proudly. I even saw one in my apartment complex with twenty-six white and purple stripes and seventeen stars, hung backwards and upside down. I doubt it was done in mockery, but it silently vanished from the apartment balcony overnight. That now familiar feeling of patriotism reared up strongly when my eye, inevitably, fell on a flag, or eagle. But then again, so did the shame. How could I be so blind to what I had? Besides freedom of person, speech and thought, what is it to be American? I.
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